


Imaginary

by PrioritiesSorted



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Reunions, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We already live together, and you’re exactly the sort of person who would insist on eloping instead of enduring the sickening display of wealth my Father would term a wedding. Besides, here we are, on a Friday night, eating take away, watching movies, and not having sex. We’re practically married anyway.” Jaime shrugged as though this was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, and Brienne gaped at him for a moment before huffing, </p>
<p>“I’m not doing it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imaginary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [downlookingup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/downlookingup/gifts).



> After years of being a slut for Fake Relationship fic, I have finally written one! Thanks to downlookingup's amazing prompt skills.

“Do we really have to do this? I mean, could we not just pretend I’ve come down with violent flu and you have to stay home and look after me?” Brienne had come up against some pretty intimidating things in her life, but the combination of the looming mansion before her, the strappy high heels on her feet, and the heavy gold wedding band on her finger, was really testing her courage.

 

“You took down a 300 pound man in under three minutes last week, and yet you’re shaking in your boots at the prospect of meeting my family. I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.” Jaime’s tone was light and teasing, but he looked nervous, too, if considerably more like he fit in with the verdant countryside and the host of luxury cars on the driveway.

 

“Yes, well I wasn’t wearing this monstrosity last week.” Brienne tugged at the hem of her skirt for the hundredth futile time since she had put it on. Sadly, it remained firmly at just above mid-thigh.

 

“Now I’m definitely offended. That is a signature Roelle and it is not a monstrosity.”

 

“Of course, _dear,_ you have impeccable taste in dresses. If only your taste in women extended to the kind who would actually look _good_ in them.”

 

“Nonsense, my love. You look stunning. At least, your legs do; that is why I chose it, after all.” Jaime winked as he started walking towards the house. His feet crunched on the gravel drive, and Brienne was already confused.

 

It was going to be a long week.

 

***

 

The whole idea had seemed much less daunting when they were sitting on the couch in their pyjamas, eating Chinese and watching _Return of the King_ for approximately the fourteenth time since Jaime had moved in. Now she thought about it, that had probably been his plan all along: ply her with prawn toast and wait until the Witch King was a smoking mass at Eowyn’s feet before venturing,

 

“Hey Brienne, wanna be my fake wife?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

It had taken a few moments for her brain to catch up to her mouth and she started sputtering,

 

“Wait- _what_ are you- why?”

 

“My family are having their annual get together next weekend. I need a fake wife so my Dad doesn’t spend the whole time needling me about settling down.”

 

“And you thought I would be the ideal candidate?”

 

“Well, we already live together, and you’re exactly the sort of person who would insist on eloping instead of enduring the sickening display of wealth my Father would term a wedding. Besides, here we are, on a Friday night, eating take away, watching movies, and not having sex. We’re practically married anyway.” Jaime shrugged as though this was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, and Brienne gaped at him for a moment before huffing,

 

“I’m not doing it.”

 

“C’mon, Brienne,” Jaime whined, “You just said you would.”

 

“That wasn’t-“

 

Jaime gasped, clutching his heart,

 

“Brienne Tarth, keeper of promises, defender of the weak and helpless, not willing to brave a few high society snobs to save her best friend from the manicured clutches of ex-debutante divorcees, with the flirting and the touching and the _groping…_ ”

 

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it. Just shut up and let me watch the movie.”

 

Jaime had chuckled and slumped back into the cushions.

 

***

 

In the days leading up to the trip, Brienne had imagined a few days of stilted conversation and forced intimacy, no harder than the weekend they spent investigating Petyr Baelish’s resorts, pretending to be a couple on a romantic getaway. Easier, perhaps, considering that they actually liked each other now, and casual intimacy had become less of an issue since they’d been living together. Among the sleek sports cars and clear luxury of the Lannister estate, however, Brienne stuck out like a sore thumb, realising too late that four days spent among the pampered elite would mean a lot more discomfort than their lie would necessarily warrant.

 

She was proven right as soon as they stepped into the ballroom (the _ballroom_ ) and found themselves surrounded by frighteningly similar looking people, all dressed in outfits that Brienne imagined cost more than she made in a month. She barely had time to take a deep, calming breath before she found herself face to face with Tywin Lannister.

 

She had met Tywin briefly once before, when she had been sitting at Jaime’s bedside after the injury to his hand, but she doubted Tywin remembered her. He had simply waved her away when he arrived, and gone about making arrangements for Jaime to be moved to a private room. She had spent all thirty minutes of his stay sitting in the little café on the ground floor, sipping coffee and flipping idly through magazines.

 

Now however, Tywin looked her up and down appraisingly, apparently deeply dissatisfied with what he saw.

 

“You did not inform me you would be bringing a guest, Jaime. It’s lucky we have a room spare.” His voice was flat and even, and laced with menace.

 

“No need for that, father.” Jaime replied cheerfully, apparently immune to his father’s impressive glare, “This is my wife, Brienne.”

 

If Tywin was shocked (he was) he was not so crude as to let it show on his face or in his tone as he replied,

 

“May I speak with you alone a moment, Jaime?”

 

“Of course, Father,” Jaime replied, grinning jovially as though he had no idea what was coming.

 

Brienne felt a little bad for being relieved she didn’t have to be present for that particular conversation, but then remembered that, really, Jaime had brought it on himself.

 

Now, however, she was alone in a room full of frighteningly blonde people. She wondered for a moment whether Lannisters exclusively married other blonde people, or whether spouses with different hair colours felt so intimidated, they deemed it necessary to dye their hair.

 

“You know, I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” a voice said, conversationally. Brienne glanced around to find Tyrion standing at her side, and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course Jaime would have told Tyrion about the plan, and Brienne was glad to have another person present who knew who she and Jaime really were. She needed it to remind _herself_ more than anything: this was temporary, unreal, stolen.

 

“Never mind him, I never thought _I’d_ do it.” Brienne tugged self-consciously at her skirt again, and her feet were already starting to hurt in her modest heels.

 

“Oh no, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

 

“And why not?”

 

Tyrion gave her an appraising look, as if pondering whether or not to answer, before he eventually spoke,

 

“You’re too nice for your own good.”

 

“Well he’s my friend and he needed my help.”

 

“You didn’t have to spend your weekend being passive aggressively attacked by your partner’s family, though, did you? Really I think that goes beyond the call of duty where friendship is concerned.” His tone was light, but there was a spark in his black eye that seemed far too knowing.

 

Before she could stutter a reply, however, Jaime reappeared at her side, handing her a glass of wine he had plucked from a passing tray,

 

“Well,” he said, grinning, “that was deeply unpleasant.”

 

Tyrion nodded sympathetically,

 

“What did he go for? Embarrassing him by catching him off guard? Marrying without his express permission and a truly heinous ceremony? Your wonderfully inappropriate choice of bride?”

 

Brienne opened her mouth to defend herself before she realised that, coming from Tyrion, it was probably a compliment, and remained silent.

 

“It was a rather winning combination of the three, actually. We started off with the standard ‘must you make everything so difficult?’ and swiftly moved on to the particulars of _why_ this situation was so difficult.” Tyrion was nodding wisely as he sipped his wine, but Brienne was taken aback. Jaime had talked of his family difficulties before, knew that his humour was blacker around Tyrion, but he’d never spoken so lightly of his father’s disapproval before. Still, she supposed it was better than having him angry and maudlin, as he usually was after a meeting with Tywin.

 

“My personal favourite moment was when he mentioned that a woman so focused on her career, and a dangerous career at that, would never consent to giving up her job in order to have children, thus endangering the continuation of the family name.”

 

Brienne snorted,

 

“Because I couldn’t just take maternity and then go back to work?”

 

“That’s what I said! But he pointed out that, working as a police officer, you could be killed at any time, leaving our children motherless. _Motherless,_ Brienne, how could you?”

 

“I’m sure our hypothetical children would survive.”

 

“Raised by me with occasional help from dear uncle Tyrion? Really, Brienne? They would be seriously traumatised.”

 

Jaime exchanged a smirk with Tyrion, who looked entirely too amused by this conversation for Brienne’s comfort.

 

“If they were seriously traumatised it would be your fault and not mine.” Brienne pointed out, but Jaime only shook his head, a sombre expression on his face.

 

“But how am I supposed to raise these children right when I am mourning the loss of my beloved wife and partner? Consumed with grief, I would barely be able to keep _myself_ alive never mind two small children.”

 

“Woah woah woah, who said anything about two?” Brienne exclaimed, but Jaime only stared back at her, a serious expression on his face.

 

“One girl and one boy, obviously.”

 

“You know it doesn’t work like that. What if they both end up being girls?”

 

“Well then we’ll have to have another one.” Jaime said, and Brienne cocked an eyebrow.

 

“We’ll have time for that before my tragic and untimely death, will we?” she wondered, sipping her wine.

 

“Oh darling, we can barely keep our hands off each other,” Jaime teased. “Three children in three years will hardly be a stretch.”

 

“Speak for yourself.” Brienne replied before she could stop herself, and Tyrion nearly choked on his wine. _Good,_ she thought, vindictively, blushing as she continued, “This entire conversation is ridiculous. We’re not having any children.”

 

“You wound me, love.” Jaime gasped, “What about the family name?”

 

“You are ridiculous.”

 

“You love it. That’s why you married me.”

 

“When we get home I’m going to murder you in your sleep.” Brienne said cheerfully, as they were approached by a pair of pretty blonde women who looked to be around ten years older than Brienne.

 

“Jaime!” One of them cried, throwing her arm around his neck to press a kiss to his cheek. Brienne noticed Tyrion slip away towards the drinks, and wished she could do the same, “How wonderful to see you, it’s been far too long.”

 

“Yes,” the other continued, pressing her own, slightly more composed kiss to Jaime’s cheek, “you’ve always got some excuse not to come to these family gatherings. We’re almost starting to think you don’t like us.” There was curl to her lips that suggested she knew full well how Jaime felt about his extended family.

 

“Nonsense, Myrielle!” Jaime replied, his smile far too wide to be genuine, “You know how busy work keeps me, I’m sure, what with Daven having recently been made Major. Is he here tonight? I must congratulate him.”

 

“Yes, our brother is around here somewhere, likely by the bar.”

 

“You never told me you had a relative in the force, Jaime.” Brienne regretted speaking instantly, as two pairs of kohl-rimmed green eyes immediately snapped towards her.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Cerenna, her voice suddenly dangerously sweet, “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

 

“My fault entirely. Cerenna, Myrielle, this is my wife, Brienne.”

 

“Oh really?” Myrielle’s eyes sparkled with amusement, “Was the whole family banned from the ceremony or was it just us?”

 

“We eloped, I’m afraid,” Jaime explained. They had the whole story planned out, and it was a pretty good one, if Brienne did say so herself. Hopefully, though, they wouldn’t have to tell it too many times before the weekend was done.

 

“Eloped? How romantic.” Cerenna’s tone suggested she thought it was anything but, and her smile had become suddenly tight. Jaime seemed not to notice as he slid an arm around Brienne’s waist, gripping her hip with his good hand.

 

“It was rather, wasn’t it darling?” he said, the teasing in his voice so light that Brienne couldn’t quite tell if she was imagining it.

 

“Very,” she agreed, twining the fingers of her free hand around his, “We’ll have to tell you the whole story some time.”

 

“I’m sure you will.” Myrielle seemed no more interested than her sister, though her apathy was less barbed, “But we must let you carry on catching up with everyone; we’re all so excited to see you.”

 

Then they were gone, leaving only a waft of perfume and sarcasm behind.

 

“Well, they were pleasant.” Brienne said mildly, and Jaime nodded.

 

“Mmm… Cerenna just got divorced, so I imagine father had her lined up as a potential bride for me.”

 

“I thought they were related to you?”

 

“Oh, they are. But their father is my father’s cousin, and in families like mine, that’s considered distant enough for marriage.”

 

“There are so many things I could say to that, but I honestly don’t think any of them fully express the mixture of disgust and amusement I’m currently feeling. Will Cersei be here this weekend, by the way?” This time it was Jaime’s turn to choke on his wine, and Brienne felt strangely vindicated.

 

He’d told her about his relationship with his sister one night on a stakeout. It had been a long week, full of tension after Brienne had asked Pod to check some information Jaime had given her on the Bolton crime syndicate; he had needled her for hours on why she’d done it, until Brienne spat back that she didn’t trust him. Six weeks into their partnership, it had been a blow, and by the end of the week they were communicating only in clipped, cold sentences.

 

“I’m fucking my twin sister,” he’d said, his voice filling the icy silence of the patrol car. “It started when we were teenagers. All three of her children are probably mine.”

 

Brienne had been horrified.

 

“Why would you tell me that?”  

 

“I trust you,” had been his simple reply. “And now you know, you’ll have to trust me, too. You could destroy me and my entire family with that information, call it insurance in the case that I ever fuck you over.”

 

Brienne hadn’t known what to say to that, but it made a twisted sort of sense. They’d never brought it up again, but then they hadn’t needed too: Jaime was a dedicated partner and police officer, and Brienne had been a little ashamed of herself for not seeing it before.

 

The next time they had acknowledged it was years later when Jaime had burst into their apartment, pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and taken a long swig before choking,

 

“It’s over.”

 

Brienne had never felt so helpless, holding him tightly while he cried, and tucking him into bed when he was too tired to cry any more. He had emerged from his bedroom the next morning, eyes red, and neither of them had said a thing about it. A few months after that, Brienne read in a magazine that Cersei had been admitted to a private rehabilitation centre. She wasn’t sure if Cersei would be out yet, but she wanted to be prepared.

 

“Yes, she’ll be here,” Jaime answered eventually. “I don’t know when she’ll be arriving, though. Keep your guard up.”

 

Brienne didn’t have time to reply before they were accosted by more of Jaime’s relatives. This time it was an older couple, grey starting to win out over blonde, who smiled and greeted Jaime with enthusiasm.

 

“You look very well, my boy,” the husband said, his impressive whiskers shaking as he spoke, “I’m sure you have a lot to catch us up on.”

 

“I do, as a matter of fact. Damion, Shiera, this is my wife, Brienne. My apologies for not inviting you to the wedding – we decided not to make a fuss.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Brienne said, trying to smile in a manner that was friendly but didn’t expose her teeth, which seemed even more crooked in the face of so many straight white smiles.

 

Damion and Sheria looked a little incredulous, struck dumb for a moment before Sheira ventured,

 

“Oh. Well aren’t you…”

 

“Young, I know.” Jaime interrupted, “I have trouble keeping up with her. Especially in certain areas, if you know what I-“

 

“Anyway,” Brienne interrupted, squeezing Jaime’s hand as tightly as she could, “it’s been lovely meeting you, I’m sorry I just have to have a word with my husband.”

 

Jaime was surprisingly docile as she dragged him from the room and into one of the many corridors leading to other parts of the house. It was only when she turned to him that she saw it was because he was laughing.

 

“You can’t _say_ things like that Jaime. Especially not to you elderly relatives!”

 

“You know, _sweetheart,_ there’s a general assumption, even among the elderly, that people who are married have had sex.”

 

“I _know_ that but- oh gods, everyone in that room thinks we’ve had sex.” Brienne clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling the colour rise to her cheeks as she stared back towards the ballroom, mortified. Jaime only laughed,

 

“Excellent deduction, dear. I would say ‘apart from Tyrion’, but I’m not convinced he doesn’t think that as well.”

 

Brienne frowned,

 

“Why would Tyrion think we’ve had sex?”

 

“He’s Tyrion.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

“So, are we going to stop hiding now?”

 

Every part of Brienne wanted to say no. They’d been at the party for a grand total of half an hour and already she wanted to leave. She sighed,

 

“Only if you promise to stop-”

 

“Making reference to our vigorous and, dare I say, imaginative marital sexcapades?” Jaime interrupted, grinning, “Very well.”

 

“Imagin _ary_ , more like,” Brienne grumbled as they re-entered the room.

 

Thankfully, Jaime kept to his word and refrained from making further allusions to their imaginary sex life, but she’d been a fool to think he’d let her go the whole evening without embarrassment. At some point, Jaime discovered that, with Brienne in heels, her shoulder was at the perfect height for him to drop casual kisses on, which he had taken to doing at every available opportunity. Every kiss sent a shiver down Brienne’s spine and by the time they were called to dinner, Brienne was wound tight as a bowstring.

 

The dining table alone was probably the size of Jaime and Brienne’s entire flat, and Cerenna informed her with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm that husbands and wives were not permitted to sit next to each other at such dinners, and she must look for her name on the delicate ivory place cards set on the table. Brienne breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she had been seated next Tyrion at the end of the table, her name hastily scrawled onto a card at the last minute.

 

“Well, father certainly doesn’t like you if he’s condemned you to an entire meal at my side.” Tyrion commented as they took their seats,

 

“Then I’m glad he doesn’t – the thought of having to make any more conversation with anyone else in this room would definitely put me off my food,” Brienne muttered, and Tyrion chuckled.

 

“I’m honoured.”

 

Towards the centre of the table, Jaime had been seated next to a plump woman Brienne assumed was an aunt, which Tyrion confirmed.

 

“Yes, that’s Aunt Genna. She’ll either love you or find you ridiculous, I’m not sure which, but if Jaime talks you up this evening you might find yourself with an ally above knee height.”  

 

“So I’m relying on Jaime being complimentary. Excellent.”

 

Tyrion opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as the doors to the dining room opened, and his sister strode in.

 

Brienne had seen Cersei dozens of times: in Jaime’s old photographs, on magazine covers, in newspapers, but her beauty was all the more terrifying in person. She walked with a purpose and a poise that no photograph could ever capture, and there was a curl to her perfectly red lips that seemed to imply scorn and amusement at once.

 

“My apologies, father. Tommen was reluctant to let me leave: I had to stay until he was asleep,” Cersei said as she shrugged off the crimson shawl she was draped in.

 

“You are too soft on those children.” Tywin’s words were pointed, but he nodded to the chair opposite him, which she sank gracefully into. The quiet murmuring of conversation has ceased completely, everyone’s attention turned to the exchange between father and daughter.

 

“Tommen is a delicate boy, father. He’s barely seen me for the last six months, I think we can excuse me a little indulgence.” Brienne was surprised to hear Cersei acknowledge her absence, but her chin was held high, as though daring her family to say anything.

 

“As long as you’ve not secretly eloped since we last saw you I think your father will forgive you,” came a voice from across the table. Genna was smiling placidly, and Brienne willed the ground to open up and swallow her.

 

“Am I missing something?” Cersei asked, a smile creeping onto her lips, “Don’t tell me Tyrion got drunkenly married to _another_ showgirl.”

 

“Wrong brother,” Tyrion smirked from his chair beside her, and Brienne had changed her mind: she wanted the ground to open up and swallow Tyrion.

 

However, Cersei’s attention was not on them, but on Jaime. The few seconds of silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity before Cersei cocked an eyebrow at Jaime, and he shrugged, and that seemed to be the end of that.

 

“What was that? _”_ Brienne hissed at Tyrion, who shook his head.

 

“No idea. I’ve never been privy to the secret language of Jaime and Cersei. Just be glad she’s decided to ignore you.”

 

Brienne couldn’t deny she was to have escaped a public confrontation, but there were two long days to go, and danger still hung in the air. The rest of the dinner was tense, and Brienne let out a sigh of relief when Tywin stood to dismiss them.

 

“I’m sure you are all familiar with proceedings by now: gentlemen with me, Cersei will take care of the ladies.”

 

Brienne looked around in horror as everyone began to get up, shooting Jaime a panicked glance, which he studiously ignored as he followed his father from the room.

 

“No no no no no no you can’t leave me,” she begged, reaching out blindly to grasp Tyrion’s arm.

 

For once, Tyrion actually looked sympathetic as he patted her hand gently, unwinding her fingers from his forearm,

 

“Sorry, you’re on your own. Good luck.” He hopped down from his chair, and Brienne was left to follow the ladies from the dining room.

 

The sitting room was probably considered small by Lannister standards, but it had enough seats for all the women to fit comfortably, and Brienne fervently hoped that her seat in the corner would save her from having to make small talk.

 

She had no such luck.

 

“So, how are you enjoying being Mrs Lannister?” Shiera asked as soon as they were seated. This curiosity seemed to be shared by most of the women in the room, and Brienne tried not to fidget as the attention turned to her.

 

“Oh, I’m not.” She answered eventually, and Shiera frowned.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I mean, of course I’m enjoying being married, but I’m not Mrs Lannister. I’ve kept my own name.” She and Jaime had agreed this beforehand, at her insistence, but Brienne was starting to regret her stubbornness as room seemed to take a collective gasp.

 

“It must be a very impressive name for you to favour it over being a Lannister,” said a woman around Brienne’s age; Brienne was almost certain her name was Jeyne, and she was married to one of the weak-chinned cousins, but she couldn’t be sure.

 

“Not particularly,” she replied as calmly as she could, “But I am my own person, after all, and my name is as good as any.”

 

“I think Brienne has different notions of what makes a good name than you do, my dear,” Genna commented, and Brienne wished Lannisters weren’t quite so given to ambiguous and veiled insults. Genna smiled at her, though, which made her wonder whether she was the comment’s intended target after all.

 

“You’ll remember you promised to tell us the story of your marriage, Brienne.” Myrielle interjected, “You did it so secretly I don’t think any of us knew until this evening.”

 

“It wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was only a few weeks ago and it was a very small ceremony.” Brienne explained, hoping that would be that, but it seemed she would not be allowed to get away without telling the tale. Myrielle was smiling at Brienne as she prompted,

 

“An elopement, Jaime said.”

 

“Yes.” Brienne began, “We’d just finished up a case, and it had been something of a close call; the man we were investigating turned out to be part of a larger criminal organisation that had managed to slip under the radar for a long time. So when Jaime and I went to make the arrest, this man had a lot more protection than we’d originally anticipated. We managed to call for backup and arrest them all with no injuries, but it was… frightening, honestly.”

 

That part of the story was true; the case had been long and hard, and when it was over they had both collapsed into Jaime’s bed, curled around each other.

 

“We’d both had near misses, and it just sort of struck us that in our line of work, any day could be our last. It was impulsive, but we don’t regret it; it’s good to know that, should anything happen to either of us, the other would have all the proper legal rights and protection.”

 

Thankfully, this was less romantic than anticipated, and the others quickly lost interest in Brienne. No-one tried to engage her in conversation again, and she was thankful for it; the low sound of their conversations became oddly soothing, and Brienne was able to take in her surroundings. The room was ornately decorated and furnished, making Brienne feel like she’d stepped into an old romance novel: the fireplace looked as though it was mad from solid marble, with ornate carvings and gold leaf twisted into the design.

 

Cersei was stood with her elbows resting on the smooth marble. She seemed entirely removed from the rest of the scene, boredom written on her features. Brienne’s heart leapt when she looked up and met her eye, but Cersei only raised her glass in an ironic toast before she looked away again.

 

By the time Genna suggested they all get to bed, Brienne was itching to leave, and had to stop herself bolting from the room and fleeing to the bedroom she was sharing with Jaime. It helped that she didn’t actually know where the room was, and had to be shown there by a rather irritated looking footman. (But really, who still had footmen? It was ridiculous).

 

When they finally reached the room, Brienne thanked her sullen guide before opening the door to find Jaime lounging on the bed, perfectly at ease. She waited until the door had closed behind her before kicking off her shoes, frustrated and snappish as she asked,

 

“When did you get back? You know what, don’t tell me, it’ll only make me more annoyed with you. I am never doing anything for you ever again. Who separates men and women after dinner anymore? The Lannisters, apparently! You know, a little warning wouldn’t have gone amiss: ‘oh Brienne, by the way, my family are weirdly old fashioned and totally fine with inbreeding’. And why in all Seven Hells wouldn’t you ring ahead to tell your father about this imaginary marriage? Telephones aren’t imaginary, you know. Maybe then we would have been spared at least some of the-“

 

She broke off mid-rant, because Jaime was laughing silently. She glared at him, but this only made him laugh harder,

 

“I’ve never heard you rant like that before. Not even about _Connington_. Oh man. Are you going to do this every night?” He chuckled as he wiped away a tear.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“No you don’t. You love me.” Brienne tensed at the words, but relaxed as he continued, “You married me and you want to have my babies.”

 

“Whatever you want to tell yourself.” She swept her hair off her back and turned so Jaime could undo her dress.

 

It wasn’t until she was standing in her underwear that she became suddenly self-conscious. _You’re being ridiculous,_ she told herself, _Jaime’s seen you in less._ Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow this was different, though she tried not to show it as she hurried into her pyjamas. Jaime turned off the light as she climbed into bed beside him, and they lay in the darkness for a few moments before Jaime whispered,

 

“This is weirder than I anticipated.”

 

Brienne couldn’t help but agree, but letting Jaime know that wouldn’t help anything,

 

“Go to sleep, idiot.”

 

“And sweet dreams to you too,” Jaime muttered, but he wriggled further into the sheets. After a few minutes she could hear his breathing level out, and envied him his easy sleep.

 

No matter how much she had been looking forward to sleep that evening, it was proving to be impossible. Jaime hadn’t been lying when he promised he didn’t snore, but he had failed to mention that he slept splayed across the bed, his limbs reaching out as far as humanly possible, so that despite the size of the bed and Brienne’s habit of sleeping curled in the foetal position, his elbow was still in her back, and his leg was weighing heavily on her feet. She tried in vain to push him off, but even in sleep he was stubborn as a mule, and simply slumped back into position after a few minutes.

 

***

 

When the alarm began to blare in the morning, it felt like Brienne had only just closed her eyes, and Jaime was still gracelessly sprawled across most of the bed. She huffed as she leaned across him to silence the shrill beeping.

 

“Good morning, dear.”

 

Brienne groaned, falling back onto the pillows.

 

“How do you sound so smug at this hour?”

 

“It’s a gift.” Jaime said with a wry smile, “Now come on, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

 

“Ugh. Why can’t you just sit around in your pyjamas playing board games all day like a normal family?”

 

“Do you really want to play Monopoly with my family?”

 

“Gods, no. I take it all back.”

 

“That’s what I thought. Up and at ‘em, sweetie.”  

 

Despite Brienne’s worries, breakfast was a surprisingly mellow affair, and Brienne found herself quite looking forward to a day spent playing tennis, if only because it provided little opportunity for talking. Myrielle, it turned out, was very good, and they passed an hour in friendly competition before Jaime, and Myrielle’s brother Daven joined them. Jaime’s grip in his right hand had improved leaps and bounds since his surgery, and he only dropped the racket twice, after particularly brutal shots from Daven.

 

By the time they were done Brienne was actually glad to sit and sip a cocktail in the gazebo, her legs casually slung over Jaime’s lap. This was easy, this was familiar, and for a moment Brienne could almost imagine they were back in their flat, lazing about and watching films. Most of the older generation were absent, and much of the stiffness of the previous evening had gone with them. Jaime’s cousin Daven was a brash but friendly man, and keen to share stories with Brienne about his time in the police force, laughing outrageously at her own tales about her own exploits with Jaime.

 

Unfortunately, once the heat started to die down more people joined them, and Brienne found herself desperately trying to answer questions about her family history, her education, and her feelings about children. Jaime traced reassuring circles on her thigh as his uncle Tygett asked pointed questions about her ambitions within the police force and whether she considered these goals attainable as a mother. Suddenly, the conversation she’d had with Jaime that first evening seemed a lot less funny. When Jaime’s cousin Margot brought up that she’d kept her name, Brienne thought for a moment he might have a stroke, before he said, in a hushed voice,

 

“But what name will the children take?”

 

It was a relief to feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, and she left Jaime to field the questions for a while as she answered it,

 

“Hi Dad.”

 

“Brienne, it’s your father.” Brienne couldn’t help smiling at her Dad’s total inability to remember that caller ID existed.

 

“I was just calling to ask why I just got off the phone with Tywin Lannister, who invited me up to his _estate_ today because we are now, apparently, family.”

 

“Oh.” Brienne said, starting to walk back towards the tennis courts, hoping to put some distance between herself and anyone who might overhear. “Well. What did you tell him?”

 

“What did I tell him? I told him I was sorry but I hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about, and then he said he was surprised you hadn’t informed me that you were married to his son.”

 

“Okay, Dad, just…” she glanced around to make sure she was alone, “I’m not married to Jaime.”

 

“Well I’m glad to hear it. Not that I don’t like Jaime, you know I’m rather fond of him, but I rather think your own father deserves an invite to your wedding. Of course, ideally I’d like to know when you got engaged but since that boat seems to have sailed I’ll settle for being at my only daughter’s wedding. If you don’t mind my saying, I’m glad he’s finally making an honest woman of you. You’ve always been a good girl, Brienne, and I know things are different from when I was young, but it did worry me to think of you living together while still unmarried-“

 

“Dad, no, please-“ Brienne protested, “I’m sorry you got dragged into this but Jaime and I aren’t engaged. We’re not even _together_ it’s just that Jaime didn’t want his father to spend all weekend trying to set him up, so he talked me into pretending we were married so Tywin would leave him alone.”

                                           

There was a long pause.

 

“Oh. Well that explains that, then.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dad. It was just a favour for a friend, really, and you shouldn’t worry about us living together because it’s not- we’re not- Look I’ve got to go.” She winced as she said it, waiting for the inevitable disappointment in his reply,

 

“Of course, my dear, of course. I hope we’ll speak again soon?” His question was tentative, and Brienne suddenly felt immeasurably guilty for all the calls she’d ever forgotten to return, worn out and cranky after work.

 

“Sure, Dad. Just ring whenever. Bye.”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

Brienne sank down onto the grass, head in her hands, and groaned.   

 

By the time she walked back to the gazebo, only Jaime was left waiting for her.

 

“Everyone’s gone in to get dressed for dinner,” he said. “You all right?”

 

“Yes. Just Dad calling to check in. I told him I’d ring him back tomorrow evening.” Jaime didn’t look convinced, but they headed back towards the house, rushing to shower and change. She didn’t particularly want to think about why she’d lied, but dinner that evening was a quiet affair, and it seemed there would be no escaping it.

 

It would have been easy to dismiss the call, she thought, if her father hadn’t seemed so unsurprised to hear that she and Jaime were together, so quick to assume that they were engaged. She could barely explain that to herself, let alone to Jaime, and it wasn’t a conversation she particularly wanted to have. She must have been frowning as she pushed her salad around her plate, because she could hear the concern in Tyrion’s voice when he asked if she was all right,

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a difficult afternoon.”

 

Tyrion grimaced in sympathy, and Brienne went back to picking at her food. All too soon, Tywin dismissed them again, and Brienne dragged her feet as she made her way to the ladies’ sitting room, where the others were already deep in conversation.

 

“Oh I absolutely agree.” Margot was saying, “The quickest way to lose a husband is to hang around him all the time; Titus has his interests, and I have mine. I wouldn’t want him loitering at my bridge club, after all, why should he want me peering over his shoulder while he tinkers away at that old car of his?”

 

“But surely marriage ought to be about sharing?” Brienne spoke without thinking, and immediately regretted it as every eye in the room turned to her. She swallowed before continuing, “I mean, obviously husbands and wives need time apart from each other but I think I’d be very uncomfortable with Jaime having a whole part of his life, not to mention something he was passionate about, that he didn’t want to share with me.”

 

“If you don’t mind my saying, dear, that sounds a little obsessive.”

 

“It’s not at all. It isn’t that I don’t trust him, or that I want to spend every waking moment with him, but shouldn’t husbands and wives be interested in each other’s passions? If only because they love each other and want to be supportive.” The more Brienne spoke, the more she realised that she was talking like a single woman, and hurried to amend, “I mean, Jaime and I are very lucky in that regard. We’re very similar in terms of our hobbies and we enjoy doing them together, but if he wanted to take up, oh I don’t know, poker, then I like to think he’d still tell me about how he was doing, because I’d be interested.”

 

She fervently hoped Jaime would not take up poker; Brienne wasn’t sure she could deal with the flat being full of cigarette smoke and Jaime’s loud male friends on a regular basis. Besides, she could hardly imagine herself serving them bowls of pretzels and bottles of beer. _Of course you can’t,_ she told herself, _because you’re not actually his wife._ And even if she was, Brienne imagined she wouldn’t be the sort to serve snacks at a boys’ night.

 

“Newlyweds,” said another blonde woman Brienne was sure she’d been introduced to at some point, “they think marriage means spending the rest of their lives with each other.”

 

Brienne frowned,

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means.”

 

“Sweetie, if we were meant to spend all our time with our spouses, we’d marry our best friends.” She giggled as though she’d made a great joke, and Brienne struggled to contain her irritation.

 

“But he _is_ my best friend,” was what Brienne eventually said, her fists balled in her lap. It was the first true thing she’d said all evening, and Brienne could feel anger coiling in her gut at the sympathetic, condescending looks the statement garnered from the other women in the room.

 

Luckily, none of them had time to voice just how ridiculous they found her opinion before the door opened and Jaime stuck his head into the room.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies, I kept Brienne up rather late yesterday evening, so I thought we’d get an early night, unless she’s been captivated by your conversation.” Jaime smirked in a way that was supposed to be charming, and probably was unless you were familiar with the tell-tale glint of mockery in his eye. Nevertheless, she’d never been so pleased to see him, and sprang from her chair at a speed that was probably rude.

 

“Oh she’s been marvellously entertaining, Jaime.” Cerenna giggled, “Telling us all about how the two of you are best friends who spend every moment together.”  

 

Brienne blushed, readying herself for Jaime to make some quip, to tease her for her devotion like the rest of his relatives, but the smile that came to his lips was strained.

 

“I think I must be missing the joke. Of course she’s my best friend,” Jaime pulled her against his side, and Brienne relaxed into his embrace. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies, it’s been a very long day.”

 

“Yes, excuse us.” Brienne echoed, dredging up the last of her energy to smile weakly at them as Jaime ushered her from the room with a muttered, “C’mon, love.”

 

***

 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said as the door of their room clicked shut behind them. “I shouldn’t have subjected you to this. I had no idea they’d be this bad.”

 

“Didn’t you?” Brienne winced at the bitterness in her tone, and kept her back to Jaime as she toed off her shoes.

 

“Of course not. I thought Father would be annoyed at not knowing and a few of the divorcees would make some comments but I never imagined they’d act-“

 

“Like I’m not good enough for you.”

 

“Well, yes.” He sounded strangely sheepish, and Brienne couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

 

“Look at me, Jaime. I don’t exactly fit in, do I? It’s no wonder they think this whole marriage is so hilarious.”

 

“Brienne-“

 

“Don’t, Jaime, please. Forget it, I’m overreacting. It’s not like we’re actually married so who cares, right? I’m going to bed.”

 

She dressed for bed in silence, while Jaime sat stiffly on the sofa, determinedly staring at the book in his lap. He silently turned off the main light when she crawled into bed, but he didn’t join her. Instead, he sat in the soft yellow light of the table lamp, reading; it must have been at least half an hour before Brienne heard him changing, and the quiet click of the light switch. She feigned sleep as he slipped beneath the sheets, desperately hoping he couldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart as his soft breath tickled the back of her neck.

 

She knew, then, that she must have fallen asleep, because she could feel gentle lips pressing a kiss against the top of her spine.

 

When she woke again, less than an hour had passed, her heart was pounding in her chest. The weight of the weekend was suddenly crashing down on her, and the prospect of another day pretending for the Lannisters made her want to scream. The need to get out overwhelmed her, and Brienne found herself creeping out of bed and across the room, opening and closing the door behind her as quietly as possible before heading off down the corridor, hoping she would find a way out.

 

The stairs at the end of the corridor only went up, so she followed them grudgingly, up and up and up until she came to a tower room with large open windows leading out onto an expansive balcony. The crisp night air was a welcome prospect, and Brienne took a deep breath as she emerged onto the balcony, only to find it already occupied.

 

“Oh, it’s you,” was all Cersei said, and Brienne was suddenly very aware that she was barefoot and wearing flannel pyjamas, while Cersei, it seemed, had yet to go to bed. She was leaning on the railing, with a cigarette dangling between her elegant fingers.

 

“Jaime said you’d given up.” It was perhaps the stupidest thing she’d ever said, and Brienne grimaced internally, but Cersei only huffed in amusement.

 

“It wasn’t allowed in the centre, but I’m not there now and fucked if I’m giving up _everything_ I love in life.” She turned to look at Brienne, still hovering in the doorway, and raised an immaculately plucked eyebrow. “Are you coming out or not? I don’t bite, you know.”

 

“I know, I just-“

 

“I imagine my brothers have been telling you horror stories.” Cersei smirked, flicking ash from the tip of her cigarette, the orange specks quickly fading into the blackness.

 

“Something like that.”

 

Cersei really looked at her then, and there must have been something in her tone or her face that said, _I know_ , because Cersei took a deep breath before she replied,

 

“Well… that is a surprise.”

 

“I thought you’d hate me.” Brienne admitted, and Cersei nodded.

 

“I did, too. But you’re… not what I would have expected, certainly. We’re not easy people to get along with, and even if you aren’t getting along with all of us, you’re certainly taking us in your stride.”

 

“Um… thank you.” The conversation was so different from what Brienne had imagined that she almost wished Cersei _did_ hate her. At least then she would have been prepared.

 

“I really wanted to hate you, don’t get me wrong,” Cersei continued, as if Brienne hadn’t spoken, “but the last time I saw Jaime he was so… _bitter,_ I suppose: about his job, about his injury, about everything. I didn’t notice it at the time because it had been building so slowly and for so many years, not to mention I was too caught up in my own shit to care too much. But now it’s like he’s seventeen again; he used to be so hopeful. He thought he was going to save the world, like a knight in a story. I thought it was stupid of him, naïve, but I’d take that Jaime over the bitter, cynical thing he became in a heartbeat. I suppose I have you to thank for bringing that out of him again.”

 

“He brought it out of himself, really. I just… gave him a bit of a push.”

 

“I’m sure you’re too modest. Considering you aren’t actually married to him, you had a remarkable influence.” The way she said it was so off hand that Brienne almost thought she’d misheard.

 

“I… I don’t know what you-“

 

Cersei only laughed; somehow, her laugh managed to be both harsh and musical at once, making Brienne uneasy.

 

“You really think I can’t tell when my brother is putting on an act? You’ve both gotten better at it but that first night it was screamingly obvious.” She took a long, last drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out against the stone railing.

 

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

 

“Of course not, it’s much more fun to watch you both try to keep up the facade. Though I suppose it’s rather easy for you.”

 

Brienne could feel her heart start to pound in her chest as Cersei fixed her with a knowing stare, her eyes so green and so like Jaime’s.

 

“I don’t know what you-“

 

“You love him.”

 

She couldn’t deny it. She’d stopped trying years ago, but having someone else say it, having the words out there floating through the cosmos, made it somehow all the more real, all the more inescapable. It probably didn’t help, she noted absently, that it was being presented to her by Jaime’s sister, _his ex-lover,_ a woman whose beauty was so awful that Brienne could barely hold back tears as she choked,

 

“Goodnight, Cersei.”

 

She practically ran back down the stairs towards her room, and her heart was pounding as she closed the door softly behind her.

 

Jaime was thankfully still asleep, splayed out on the bed like a starfish; Brienne nudged him out of the way as she slipped into bed beside him, and tensed as he grumbled in his sleep and flung an arm across her waist.

 

_You love him._

 

The words were still ringing in her ears, and the worst part was that they hadn’t been vindictive: they were simply a statement of fact. No matter how much she wished it weren’t true, no matter how hard she tried not to, she loved him. She had loved him for years, but she’d never expected anything more from him, she’d never wanted it, and she’d agreed to this ridiculous farce with no ulterior motive, but everything was different now. The casual touches and the solid feel of his arm around her waist were too addictive, and he had never been further from her reach.

 

***

 

When morning finally came, it was deceptively lovely. Breakfast was quiet once again, and claiming a headache in order to slip back to her room was not hard; Jaime shot her a knowing look as she retreated upstairs, but said nothing, and Brienne was grateful. She spent the morning curled up in bed, reading, and for a while, Brienne dared to hope that the afternoon might be a pleasant one.

 

That hope died as soon as she came down for lunch, and found herself face to face with Tywin. Without the heels she had worn for the formal evening meals, Brienne was just slightly shorter than Tywin, though the difference seemed much larger. Even without the height advantage, Tywin had a way of making everyone he looked at feel small.

 

“I understand your father was unaware of your marriage,” was his greeting, and Brienne was taken aback.

 

“Yes, I’m afraid he was. I felt a little guilty for doing it without telling him, but I’m sure Jaime explained the situation to you.”

 

Tywin nodded, and Brienne tried not to look too relieved; lying to a group of people had been one thing, lying to Tywin Lannister was quite another.

 

“One might assume, however, that you would find time in the month you have been married to inform your father of the event?”

 

“Well, yes,” Brienne answered, casting around frantically for an excuse, “but I really wanted to tell him in person, and it’s quite the journey to visit him so I’ve not had the opportunity.”

 

“You get on well with you father, though?”

 

“Oh, yes. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to know, I just…” she tailed off, and Tywin fixed her with a stern look before saying abruptly.

 

“You’re very young. How old _are_ you?”

 

“I’m twenty four.” Brienne answered, unsure where this conversation was leading.

 

“And you’re quite comfortable married to a man twice your age?”

 

“He’s hardly twice my age.”

 

“He’s thirty eight.”

 

“I’m well aware of that, thank you.”

 

“I never imagined you weren’t.” His words implied nothing, but Brienne knew exactly what he meant. The dining room was filling up, now, and she didn’t dare to challenge him outright. However, he gave her no chance to respond before continuing.

 

“I also believe you are not unaware of the wealth that Jaime will one day come into.”

 

“I doubt anyone who has been here could be unaware of that.” Her tone was careful, the kind she used with a gun pointed at her, though that was marginally less terrifying.

 

“And you are not daunted by the prospect of one day being responsible for a property such as this? Especially considering your youth and your inexperience with such things.”

 

“Jaime and I are partners, sir, and we do our best to support each other. I’m sure that when the time comes, we will take that responsibility together.” Brienne could feel her hands begin to shake; this was not her world, this kingdom of sharp corners and careful words, but she would balance on its edge if she had to.

 

“Yes, you certainly seem devoted to each other,” Tywin mused, “even if you refuse to take his name.”

 

“Father.” Jaime’s voice was cold, and Brienne felt her heart stop. “I hate to interrupt but I would appreciate it if you’d stop attacking my wife.”

 

“I am not attacking anyone, Jaime, don’t be so dramatic. I was merely making sure that Brienne is aware of the pressures that come with being a Lannister.”

 

Jaime scoffed,

 

“If you’d bothered to talk to her about anything beyond interrogating her about the particulars of our marriage you’d know that Brienne is perfectly capable of handling anything you can throw at her.” Brienne touched his arm gently, but Jaime didn’t seem to notice. The other Lannisters however, couldn’t miss the raised voices, and Brienne cringed under their collective gaze.

 

“You’ve spent this whole bloody weekend looking down your nose at her,” Jaime continued, “but this woman is a better person than anyone in this family can ever hope to be, and despite this, she still inspires me to try to be better than I have been. Honestly, I don’t deserve her and I never have. I owe her my life hundreds of times over, which I think merits a basic level of respect even from you.”

 

“You can hardly lecture me on respect while you are making such a scene, Jaime.” Tywin replied, coolly, and Jaime looked murderous.

 

“It’s fine, Jaime. Leave it,” Brienne said gently, taking one of his trembling hands in hers. The look they exchanged was a familiar one, Jaime was as impulsive in his work as in his personal life, but there was something charged in it now that Brienne did not have time to examine.

 

She said nothing more as she led Jaime from the room, the silence echoing behind, though Brienne had no doubt that the muttering would begin as soon as the door closed.

 

Jaime didn’t drop her hand until they reached their bedroom, dragging their suitcase out from under the bed and throwing things haphazardly into it. Brienne watched him for a moment, wanting to reach out and comfort him, but finding herself unable to say anything but,

 

“Did you mean it?”

 

“Mean what?” he asked, finally turning to look at her.

 

“All the things you said in there. About me.”

 

The gold band on her finger suddenly felt terribly heavy, and she twisted it around her finger, concentrating on the shine of the gold in the summer light.

 

“Of course,” Jaime said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“You didn’t have to, you know. Defend me, I mean.”

 

“No, I did.” His voice was unexpectedly soft, and when Brienne finally looked up he was standing in front of her, eyes searching her face for a long moment before he murmured,

 

“Oh, fuck it.”

 

Then he was pulling her close and kissing her, and for a few seconds, she let him. For those few seconds, she let herself melt into his embrace, to feel the softness of his lips and the scratch of his stubble. She pushed him away.  

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“What do you think I’m doing?”

 

“I don’t- this isn’t what I…” she stuttered, and Jaime recoiled instantly. In her weakness Brienne missed the warmth of his hands on her. Now they were running through his hair as he backed away,

 

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I thought you…”

 

“You thought what?” snapped Brienne, anger taking the place of shock, “That I’d want your pity kisses? Your gratitude? Gods, Jaime, I know I’m ridiculous but I never thought you’d…”

 

“Brienne, that’s not what I meant.”

 

“Oh please, I can’t see how you could have meant anything else. ‘Poor Brienne, she’s so in love with me she’ll go on a hellish family holiday, even if it means pretending to be my wife’. I’m not stupid, Jaime. I know you could never…” Brienne broke off with a choking sob. Her vision was blurring with tears but she refused to let them spill.

 

She could feel her whole body shaking as she tried to compose herself, but it was of no use when she felt two warm hands cradle her trembling ones. The tears finally slipped from her eyes, and Jaime came into focus, smiling softly at her.

 

“I love you.”

 

“What?” She must have misheard, because he couldn’t have said,

 

“I love you. You are stupid and stubborn and brilliant, and I love you. The fact you’ve been wearing my wedding ring all weekend has done unexpected but not unpleasant things to me, and every minute I have spent not kissing you has been a great difficulty. I love you. Is that clear enough?”

 

When he kissed her again, it was gentle, his hand coming up to sweep a thumb over her cheek and wipe away the last traces of her tears. There were a thousand more things that needed saying, but Brienne couldn’t bring herself to care. Jaime’s other hand was light on her back, but when she finally let her fingers grasp the material of his shirt, he pulled her tightly against him. Brienne gasped, and Jaime took the opportunity to nip at her lower lip before he pulled away.

 

“I love you,” she breathed as he peppered kiss along her jaw, and she could feel his smile against her skin.

 

“I know.”

 

Brienne smiled despite herself, and hid her face in the crook of Jaime’s neck. He kissed her temple lightly,

 

“Do you want to go home?”

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 


End file.
